bad things were; she didn’t want Raoul finding out more.
‘Oh, don’t bother.’
That lazy voice was back but she could catch the thread of steel that ran through it like a warning rumble of thunder before a storm broke.
‘I’m sure I can manage on my own. You can find out the things you most want to know that way.’
It was meant to sound casual, indifferent, but there was so much more in his voice. The growing storm was coming nearer, dangerously so. She would have to find out just what was happening with Ciara and figure out how she could proceed from there. And she’d have to make sure that, whatever Raoul had in mind, he didn’t get a chance to put it into action.
This sleek, elegant man with the closely cropped black hair, the burning golden eyes above lean, bronzed cheeks and the arrogant tilt to his proud head was so very different from the man she had met on that magical holiday. The young, carefree, raw and sexy Raoul with the suntanned skin, bare feet and over-long hair was the man she had fallen in love with. The man who had broken her heart. Then his friend Rosalie had warned her that Raoul was not all he seemed, but she’d been so deep in love she’d ignored it. Or at least hadn’t listened to it properly. So she’d been stunned to find that her own teasing nickname for him was the very one that was used in the international business world to describe his ruthless, cold-blooded determination to make a profit.
The Corsican Bandit was the man she was dealing with now. Because of that, she was going to have to tread carefully. And her sister’s arrival had reminded her that there was more than her own future at stake.
‘Enjoy your day!’ she said over-brightly, praying it didn’t sound as fake to him as it did to her own ears. ‘Come on, Ciara, we have lots to do!’
Moving to the open doorway, Raoul stood, eyes narrowed, feet firmly planted wide apart, as he watched the two women walk away across the lush green field towards Blacklands House. He wouldn’t have known the two women were sisters if he hadn’t been told, he reflected. Ciara was shorter, with more rounded curves, and her hair was a glorious red-gold. Just Pierre’s type, damn him.
‘She’s so young, Raoul, and so lovely.’ Marina’s words echoed in his head. ‘And twenty years younger than me—it’s no wonder he’s entranced. I wish I’d never given her the job as nanny!’
Deep in his pockets, his hands clenched into tight, aggressive fists. The image of Imogen and her sister walking so close together, arms linked without a care in the world, it seemed, brought back a bitter remembrance of that photograph in the papers.
The Scandalous O’Sullivan Sisters. His breath hissed in between clenched teeth.
Yesterday had been just the start. A preliminary survey to get the lie of the land. Tomorrow he would put his plan into operation and he would set himself to bring down the O’Sullivan family, one by one.
Starting with Imogen.
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